


Milk instead of Tea on a bad day

by electronic_elevator



Series: the ones with little!Wilford [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: ABDL, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Age Play, Wetting, cg!Reader, little!Wilford, soft...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22019560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electronic_elevator/pseuds/electronic_elevator
Summary: It was a quiet afternoon in the mansion. A warm day, and actually calm, which was a rarity in and of itself. Perfect for some afternoon tea. You knew you’d like to invite Wilford, but you couldn’t find the man in any of his usual haunts about the house.The reason why became abundantly clear as you rounded the corner to his room.This story contains ABDL — cg!Reader and little!Wilford — so, y’know, don’t like-don’t read. The self-insert character is called “Mommy” but otherwise not gendered.
Relationships: Wilford Warfstache | William J. Barnum | The Colonel/OC
Series: the ones with little!Wilford [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742665
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	Milk instead of Tea on a bad day

**Author's Note:**

> I’m kind of developing an actual self-insert character, which is neat! Y/N here is Dark’s assistant/secretary/etc; this takes place Dark’s manor where all of the egos not under Actor’s control, and Y/N, live.
> 
> Also, Dark was NOT supposed to be in this fic. He just showed up, and I didn’t have the heart to kick him out. But, I think I made it work. Also, given that Dark canonically Does That (just shows up without invitation) I’m considering this story to be approved and canonical in at least one timeline...

You rounded the corner to Wilford’s room, after taking a somewhat thorough tour about the house while seeking the man out for some company with your afternoon tea but not running into him.

His door was partially open, indicating it was very likely that he was in, and you smiled as you approached. “Wilford—“ you began, nudging the door open a bit further, but cut off as Wilford, visibly shaking even on the other side of the room, rounded on you with his revolver. 

You jumped back, against the wall. You were pretty sure you couldn’t be killed, though extremely unwilling to test the hypothesis, and not at all sure that Wilford wouldn’t shoot you. He had… bad days, sometimes. You did not fault him for them. 

“Y/N?” Wilford whispered. 

Taking a deep breath, you peeled yourself off the wall and realigned yourself with his potential line of fire. “Yeah, Wil, it’s me.” 

He made a strangled sound. He still had both hands on the gun, and you could see he looked a mess. Clothes disheveled, hair ungroomed. A look in his eyes like he was half somewhere else and the other half absent. Shaking so badly he might not be able to aim the gun anyway. But, looking at you, he seemed to be able to focus, somewhat. 

“Y/N,” he repeated, face twisting up into tears. “I’m sorry…”

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, Wil.” You started moving towards him, slowly, slowly. 

“I didn’t mean to,” he continued, pleading. 

“Shhh, now. I said it’s okay,” you replied, although unsure if he was talking about nearly shooting you or about… well. In any case, he needed you. And you needed to get that gun out of his hands. You were at his side now. “Wil, can you put that down for me?”

He was crying, not sobbing, just tears tracking down his face. Your heart broke for him when he was like this. But, you’d found a way to help… if only temporarily. 

“Wil, can you give that to me?” 

No answer. You put a hand over his. “Baby, please.” 

He shuddered at your touch and the affectionate name, releasing the gun and all but jumping into your arms, sobbing openly. You maneuvered it to its safety position (glad that it had one) and offloaded it onto a nearby shelf before cradling the crying man closer, petting his soft hair with your hand. “Shh, now. It’s okay,” you cooed.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” 

“You didn’t hurt anyone today.” He had, before. You knew that. “You were scared, but you gave me the gun and that was very, very good. Now I’m going to stay with you until you feel better.” 

“Y/N,” he repeated in a broken voice, his usual pep replaced with a haunted quality. He must be remembering, or otherwise sensing, a lot today. You knew his head could get quite loud. Confirming your suspicions, he continued, “It’s too much.” 

“Wilford,” you replied, keeping your tone warm and your own thoughts calm. “Do you want me to take care of you this afternoon?” 

He made eye contact, his eyes bright with still-falling tears. “Yes, please, please,” he pleaded, although he didn’t have to and should know that. 

You’d discovered this helps him — the both of you, actually. Lets him go to a quieter place, a simpler time that maybe didn’t exist but, well, neither did many of the other places he’d been.

“Alright, then. Let’s go close the door and get you into something comfortable.” You coaxed him to disentangle from you long enough that you could scoop him up onto your hip. (Over the years, you’d learned that most things in this manor could be done with the right combination of willpower, though you had a feeling this would be physically impossible for you with anyone but Wilford.)

Having you bodily there and the now-familiar certainty of what was to come had him calmer already. 

You wanted him to really, truly get better, but it seemed any time he was in a position to know of his issues (the only possible vantage point from which to work on them) he was overwhelmed by them, and it was nonproductive to let him stay in that torturous state. So, through a combination of this comfort that you could offer him, trying to prevent him from doing anything self-damaging on a “normal” day, and being his friend, you tried your best. 

Carrying him over to the door, you held your non-supporting hand up for him to loosely grasp. You noticed his hands were still tremoring, and you kissed his forehead as you shut the door. 

“Hey, now. We’re safe here. I’m going to take care of you,” you murmured, letting him cuddle into you. He really was a sweet boy. Your sweet boy. 

You made your way over to the bed, laid him down. He began to fuss again, so you leaned down near to him.

“I’ve got to get your things, little one. Can you be a big boy for just a second and lay here quietly?” 

“Don’t want you to leave,” he said, not pouting but really still pleading. 

“I’m not leaving, sweetheart. I’m just grabbing your things,” you told him, smoothing back his hair as you drew back, turning towards the closet where you knew he kept his little stuff. “I’m still here. I found the bag. What should I dress the baby in today?” You kept talking. “A nice soft diaper of course, so you don’t have to worry about anything, not even the potty. How about your soft pink onesie? Would you like that, little Wilford? And your pacifier, until I can make you a nice bottle of something that will calm you down.” 

You walked back over to him with these items as well as his changing mat and powder. “Do you want to go potty before we diaper you up?” 

Wilford shook his head, his hair bouncing softly into his face. 

“Okay,” you cooed, smoothing back the errant hair. “Pick your legs up, baby boy.” He complied readily, watching you as you slipped the diaper under him and taped him up after he laid back down. “There, all safe and dry,” you said, leaning in to kiss him on the nose. But, when you pulled back, you saw he was already wetting. “Wilford!” you said, not quite admonishing but a little surprised. He was blushing, curling his fingers around his face and slipping his thumb into his mouth, as you continued, “I asked if you wanted to go use the potty.” 

“I didn’t,” he whined, muffled by the thumb in his mouth. “Wanted to wet.”

You tsk’d gently, feeling the diaper to check the damage with one hand and grabbing his pacifier with the other. “Well, that diaper will hold out a bit more.” He didn’t protest; clearly he wanted to be wet or he’d’ve let you take him to the potty. After this chance to respond, you nudged his fingers out of his mouth and replaced them with the pacifier. Then, you turned and got the aforementioned soft pink onesie; the long kind, like footy pajamas without the feet. 

“Please sit up, Wil; we’re gonna get you in your nice comfy onesie.” You sat beside him and threaded his feet through. “Now, stand up.” You moved around in front of him, helping him get his arms into the sleeves then zipping him up and giving him a warm, loving smile. “There’s my Wilford.” 

He moved forward, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling his head into you. You hugged back, heart twisting. He was a lot calmer, a lot more in-the-present, but you knew he was still on shaky ground. “Do you want a bottle? And we can do whatever you want after.” 

“I want warm milk and just cuddles. Please.” 

“Of course, pretty baby. Can I take you to the kitchen with me to make your bottle?” 

He nodded, a little hesitantly. Leaving his room risked other egos seeing him, which he didn’t much like, but they’d seen him like this before and he wasn’t really alright to be left alone at the moment and you both knew it. None of the others were really going to speak against him, anyway — even if they didn’t have an adequate level of respect (or fear) of Wilford to hold themselves back, you certainly wouldn’t stand for it, and if you couldn’t wrangle them then Dark would put a stop to it one way or another. (There was a lot of complexity in their relationship, but Dark loved Wilford one way or another.) 

So, you scooped him up again. You did love carrying him. “Alright, let’s go. A kitchen adventure. But, it’ll take a few minutes to get your milk ready, let’s grab you a coloring book so you have something to do. Can you pick one out, and the cup you want to drink from?” He deliberated for a few seconds before pointing to a generic coloring book, which you handed to him along with a small pack of crayons, and a sippy cup decorated with colorful swirls, which you wiggled into your pocket to keep one hand free. 

The nearest kitchen wasn’t far, and you didn’t run into anyone on the way. You set Wil down in a chair with the coloring book in front of him, and got the milk out of the fridge and the pan down from the rack. 

“What are you coloring?” you asked after a glance over your shoulder revealed he’d selected a page. 

“A puppy,” he replied, scribbling away.

“A purple puppy? Are puppies purple?” 

Wilford almost, but didn’t quite, giggle. (Close enough that you considered it a success.) “No, Mommy, but it’s for pretend.” 

He almost never colored things in their traditional colors. He likes bright colors too much. “Oh, I see,” you commented as you took the small pan of milk off the heat. You’d thrown a tablespoon of sugar in, and a splash of vanilla; he’d had a hard day and deserved something sweet. 

The next glance over your shoulder revealed Dark standing silently in the doorway, gazing fondly at Wilford. You were a bit alarmed, unsure if Wilford would be set off again by seeing him. Dark didn’t notice that you’d seen him yet, or he would’ve stopped you, but you didn’t really want Wilford to be seen like this without knowing about it, so you called out “Dark! How are you?” while keeping a close eye on your boy. Wilford looked nervous for a second, craning his neck to see the other man as you continued addressing Dark, “I won’t be able to do any more work this afternoon, I’m afraid.”

“Hi Dark,” Wilford added, a little timidly.

“Hello, Wil, Y/N.” he replied. “Your coloring looks very nice.”

“Thank you!” Wilford said, smiling, and you thanked the stars to see that again after how upset he was earlier. It seemed that letting Dark into the conversation was the right decision. 

“…Do you want to help me finish it..?” Wilford continued, hopefully. Dark’s… outline, for lack of a better word, which normally held comparatively stable around Wilford, bifurcated, giving away his nervousness at navigating this situation. 

“…Sure, Wilford,” he agreed after everyone hesitated for a moment. You’d finished heating the milk, so you poured it more or less carefully into Wil’s sippy cup and turned to wash up the dishes quickly. You listened to Wilford explain that he’d chosen to color the puppy purple and offered Dark the chance to color the background trees. Meandering over with the sippy cup, you saw Dark had gone the traditional route and was making the leaves green, kneeling beside Wilford. 

“Here’s your milk, baby.” 

“Thank you, Mommy!” As soon as that last word left his lips, he seemed embarrassed by it, and glanced at you then at Dark with worry in his eyes. You also looked at Dark. While you did not think he would have a problem, you were prepared to fight him if he did. But, he didn’t — just looked a bit embarrassed himself, which was a cute look on him anyway. 

“Do you wanna finish coloring with Dark before we go back to your room?” 

“Yes, please,” Wilford said in a pause between sucking on the sippy cup. You settled into the chair beside him, watching the two of them. Dark gave you a look like he was worried about fucking up. You tried to make your expression reassuring. He was doing alright thus far.

“What a pretty drawing. Can I hang it up at my desk when you’re done?”

Wilford thought for a second, chewing on the sippy spout. “Yes! We’ll make it really nice for you.” 

Dark had finished the trees and carefully swapped out his green crayon for a red one, to color the dog’s bowl. Soon after, Wil decided he was satisfied with the puppy and grabbed a light blue to color its chew toy, the last thing in the picture. 

“We’re all done!” Wilford declared, excitedly. 

“Wow! You and Dark did such a good job.” 

Wilford smiles, which you consider another success. “I’m ready to go back to my room now,” he tells you, reminding you, “I still want those cuddles.” 

You laughed lightly. “Of course. Why don’t you say thank you to Dark for helping you color? And, can I please have your drawing to hang up later? I would love to have it at my desk to remind me of you.”

“Okay! Thank you, Dark,” Wilford said, sounding a bit more adult for the minute. He pulled Dark into a big hug, which the other reciprocated. 

“You’re welcome. I enjoyed it. And, ah, Y/N, I’m headed back up, so if you’d like, I can take the picture and leave it on your desk. Don’t worry about coming back in this afternoon.” 

“That would be great, Dark, actually. Thank you.” And you meant it, of course. 

He nodded to the two of you, then addressed Wilford as he picked up the coloring page: “It was good to see you, my friend. I hope you have a relaxing afternoon.” A clear attempt at saying “I accept you” without using any specifics. It made you smile. 

“You too, Dark.” Wilford replied, not making eye contact. He quickly got up with his sippy cup and coloring supplies and came to your side, nuzzling up against you while Dark headed out. Back to work… unsurprisingly. Maybe you’d have to get him to join you for longer one day. 

You pet Wilford’s hair. “Want me to carry you back or do you wanna walk?” 

“I’ll walk this time, Mommy.” 

“How did you feel, seeing Dark?” 

“…A little nervous, having him around while I’m feeling like this, but I had fun coloring with him. But… I’m tired, and I want to go back to it being just us for now.” 

“Well, I thought you were very brave. And now that you’ve got a nice calming drink we can go lay down and just relax.”

The two of you also didn’t run into anyone on the way back. 

In Wilford’s room, you took the coloring supplies to put away (maybe for later) and climbed onto the bed, patting the space beside you. “C’mere, baby. A bit more excitement than I was planning for you to have this afternoon, but you were a very good boy.”

Wilford climbed up, wiggling close to you, and let out a content sigh as he nuzzled his face into your chest. “Dark was a good boy, too, right Mommy?” 

You chuckle, stroking his hair. “Dark was also a good boy.”

You handled him his milk. “Don’t spill now, pretty baby." The two of you were quiet, taking in the general silence of the manor. It was peaceful again, and all signs pointed to Wil feeling quieter and more stable now. You’d lie here for a while, maybe taking a lazy nap, and later you’d need to change him (after all that milk) and maybe you’d play for a bit before dinner. But it was going to be okay. Slowly.

**Author's Note:**

> Wilford is a delight. The love of my life. And, my god, why isn’t there more little!Wilford content; he’s baby… if y'all have any fics or fanart w/ little!Wilford PLEASE send them my way. I'm begging here. 
> 
> also I'm nervous abt posting so if you liked it... lmk? leave a comment w/ ur Thoughts?


End file.
